


Vox Populi

by typervoxilations



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dystopia, Dystopian War Setting, F/M, Fantasy elements, Gangsters, Gore, Heterosexual Main Pairing, Heterosexual Minor Pairing, Homosexual Minor Pairing, M/M, Magical technology, Original Female Character x Original Male Character, Original Male Character x Original Male Character, Original Universe, Slow Build, Something like Victorian Steampunk meets Wild West America, Steampunk, Steampunk Universe, Violence, mafia, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typervoxilations/pseuds/typervoxilations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After many, many long nights of turning things over in my mind, I finally decided to tackle this five year long story idea I have that has never let me be even though I kind of lost interest in it for a while, because I decided that I love these characters and this setting too much.</p><p>So I am letting this monster loose into the world.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Vox Populi

**Author's Note:**

> After many, many long nights of turning things over in my mind, I finally decided to tackle this five year long story idea I have that has never let me be even though I kind of lost interest in it for a while, because I decided that I love these characters and this setting too much.
> 
> So I am letting this monster loose into the world.

_The country-side, Father Matthais concluded, was a nice, quiet place. Though there weren’t many visitors to the sanctum, all of them were pious, devout, but not over-zealous followers of the Faith. A few last stragglers murmured their farewells to him and pressed their hands to their hearts in the sign of their belief, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement, raising his hands and giving them a silent blessing in return. The wooden double doors closed behind a couple whom he knew lived a long way down the road, and Father Matthais warned them to be safe through the storm that was starting to rage outside. There was only one more follower left, but he was bent with his hands clasped over the altar, praying, so he picked up his oil lamp and quietly shuffled towards the back rooms, up the spiraling staircase that led to his personal office in the attic of the sanctum._

_The attic office was as anyone would have believed an attic office would be like: rather enclosed, and sparse with the exception of a simple writing desk and the length of a bench without a backrest. To be honest, the bench wasn’t doing wonders for the back of a rather aged man like Father Matthais, but it wasn’t like the clergy of the Faith could ever consider a life of luxury after all. He hobbled over to the desk and his swore he could feel his old bones creaking as he bent to sit down. The downpour thundered on the rooftop overhead. A wizened, sun-scorched hand opened the drawer to retrieve a nearly dry inkwell and a ruffled quill to continue writing down reports of the day’s happenings._

_Through the crack thunder, the rattle of a hatch in the roof that hadn’t been bolted down properly stilled his action and sharp eyes, clear and quite alert despite his age, watched the darkness of the attic. His hand shifted, reaching deeper into the drawer than he first intended._

_A feather, black as a raven’s down, drifted down from the rafters._

_Father Matthais had barely jerked the revolver out of its hiding place that a creature crashed down through the skylight, a screech that was nails on a chalkboard ripping through its throat, curved beak parted to reveal rows upon rows of jagged fangs, tethering on clawed, avian legs. The clergyman wasted no time in emptying the chambers of his gun into the monster, but it seemed to have no wounding effect, only succeeding in enraging it. It spread its wings, tattered and previously draped around it like an old black leather cloak, charging, and Father Matthais hit the floor, rolling underneath the antelope-like horns and towards the door. Without looking back, and with surprising agility for a man his age, he flew down the stairs, only the safety of that last praying man in the sanctum in his mind._

_The man jolted to his feet when Father Matthais came flying through the back door. “Go!” He roared. “Get out!” The man needed no further prompting as the avian-like beast came charging after the clergyman. Father Matthais turned back around, firing off another round of bullets, but the claws sunk into his shoulders, deep, and he was thrown back against the altar with the creature on top of him. He dug his fingers into his robes, grasping the small object pressing against his windpipe and clenching his fist over it tightly. The creature opened its beak again, clasping down on his throat._

_“Stymphalia, back.”_

_And the fangs retracted from his neck, leaving rows of open holes littering the skin and dribbling out blood in a steady leak. From the corner of his vision, a pair of pointed leather shoes came into view. The blood rushing too his ears blocked out most sound and he barely even heard it when the man (and he was quite certain it was a man) spoke. “Give the Sin to me, old man, and I’ll ease your passing.” The voice was deep, gravelly, and not unknown, but Father Matthais refused to answer, his fingers tightening over the formless object. “Even if you persist, I can merely take it from your cold, dead hands, Father. I’m not picky.” Father Matthais spat blood, and it landed on the creature’s black oil feathers._

_“Even if you take it, there is nothing you can do.” He rasped. “Blood responds only to blood and the five gates cannot be opened with only one key.” He cackled and the blood flowed faster down the sides of his neck, pooling around his head in a warm, sticky puddle. “You will fail, and the voices will live on, through the creations of your own making.” The silence seemed to stretch on and on, but suddenly, without prompting, Stymphalia’s jaws were back and the snap of bone echoed throughout the empty sanctum with an eerie emptiness._

_Footsteps sounded as the man moved closer to the corpse, and the creature withdrew its blood-stained hooks, stepping back with a low trilling as he crouched down to retrieve the object in Father Matthais’s hands. He pried the fingers off, and the flickering candlelight glanced off the odd angles of the metal object now in his hands._

_There wasn’t much time for him to admire it, however, when the telltale wailing of authority patrols started closing in, outside the sanctum. Even though he knew it would be simple to merely tell them off, he wasn’t keen on interacting with anyone right now. He nodded to Stymphalia and straightened. “Take care of them.” The creature spread its wings with a predatory screech of savage joy and the man merely walked away, the sound of gunshots and screaming following him into the stormy night._


End file.
